In the name of the father

I am not usually a superstitious person but when I nervous, jittery or really want something I tend to utter one the three- " Touch wood" , " Fingers crossed" , or " In the name of the father, and of the son and of the holy spirit." I also do this whenever I want to avoid jinxing something good happening.  I say all three when the situation requires. ( this year's world cup final for instance)


While making chocolates today I burnt some of it. So while melting the next bowl of chocolate I heard myself chanting " In the name of the father, son and holy spirit" I know for a fact that chanting stuff doesn't really change anything. Maybe all it does is ease the tension. Maybe it's all about habit.


The chant involving fathers, sons and spirits is not the result of being in a missionary school for twelve years. My mom does this. I learned it from her.


As a kid I used to cross my fingers a lot. Literally cross my fingers. Many will remember the mail van theory- wish on a mail van, cross your fingers and un-cross them when you see a black car. If you manage this your wish will come true. I did this every time I saw a red mail van. It became a good omen sort of thing. Whenever I see a mail van these days I have to stop myself from crossing my fingers.


Superstition for me is not just avoiding jinxing stuff but also a habit. I am not superstitious as a person. Many people including my grandmother believe that talking about death is Ashub  or a bad omen. If am not superstitious enough to believe in shub ashub why do I do the finger crossing stuff? Does that mean I am contradicting myself. If its only a habit, do I need to break out of it? It's not even something I do consciously but yes now that I am writing about it I want to make a note of how often I tend to get superstitious. 


Or maybe I will not. How does it matter if crossing my fingers or saying touchwood makes me more superstitious than i think I am. It's just one quirk. Maybe I will stop doing it, maybe not. Right now 
my life is moving forward quite smoothly *touchwood*

Artfully not yours

I have participated in quite a few sit-and-draw competitions as a kid, even though I cant really draw. Most of them i sat through because my parents thought it was a good idea. Today I read this report in the Sunday metro about a "design a stamp competition" organised at the general post office. 


http://www.telegraphindia.com/1111127/jsp/calcutta/story_14802486.jsp

What I wanted to do. 

I realised that I too as a kid had participated twice in similar designing activity organised at the same venue. A bunch of us (basically those who got the permission from their parents) were taken from our school to the GPO. We all sat there (I  was going to write quietly but  I am not sure if we were quiet) Paper handed to us, theme explained; we all got to work. I was quite enthusiastic in the beginning. The clock didn't stop for me, my art skills didn't improve in the course of an hour. It never did. When we were asked to give our paper up, I decided that what I drew didn't resemble the masterpiece I had in mind. 

The next year the teachers sought me out again- not because I was good but because I would add to the number of children participating and my parents would easily allow me to stay back after school to design stamps for the postal service. (What a noble task)

What I can do. 

As a teenager I took art lessons for a few months. This lady used to come to my place once a week, used to draw a scene which I was supposed to copy. I also learned how to shade a tree. I can tell you one thing that my drawing had improved in those months. A bit. 


Parents make it a point to introduce their kids to all kind of activities they can think of. The basic ones- dance, draw, sing are so popular that all localities have atleast one drawing, singing or dance teacher/class. Within walking distance of my house there are five such places where hapless children are sent to learn to how to belt out songs, gracefully move their limbs and churn out Mona Lisa like masterpieces. 


After this experiment the preferred activity is established and the next few years are spent achieving excellence in said talent. Many children excel in all three ( I dread such kids). 


I am glad that kids today have more activities to choose from. It can be Taekwondo or French, bowling, tennis or even graphology. Ofcourse whatever children pursue they are expected to excel in it. Some things never change.

koritsi. chica. ragazza. just a girl.

Being a north Indian I have grown up with the ritual of kanjak celebrated on Ashthami- the eight day of the 9 days worshiping Maa, better known as Navratri. Navratri is celebrated in April and in October. In October it coincides with Durga puja.

Asthami for us would mean going to my nani’s house early in the morning. Sitting down near the mandir in my nani’s room. Waiting for nani to finish chanting her mantras. Singing along “shera wali maata teri sadayi jai” at the right cue. Getting our feet washed by nanu. The youngest kanjak pulled out a handful of grass from an earthen pot. For years it was me and my cousin doing it, my sister did it when she was old enough to. Then came the awaited moment of the Prasad- halwa, puri, chana and raita. And the token amount of money and a gift from my nanu was always included.

I am not a ritualistic person but there are  certain situations or things that you associate with certain people. I associate ashthami with my nani. She passed away in 2007 and I have not witnessed a kanjak puja after that. Today is Ashthami and I am thinking of my nani. And my girlhood.

A girl. Am I a 21 year old girl or a 21 year old woman? A woman; I think, who sometimes wants to go back to being just a girl.


It's sometimes nice being a female. You get the attention of a busy shopkeeper faster than the xy people. And you don't have  really have to ask a guy out. There's some stuff about being a woman that pisses me off but I don't really want to get into that. Not today.


Today, I want to be grateful for being a girl. I want to count my blessings. Today, I want to hold on to the traditions and rituals of the past. If not continue with them, I want to just think of them with fondness. I want to make up my own rituals. For myself. And for my future offsprings. Today I want to think of my nani, who taught my mom so many things and who in turn taught me so much. 


I want to celebrate being a girl, for once. I don't want to rant about feminism and equality and what not. Then why do I even mention feminism? Because it is on my mind. I am thinking about the obvious stuff like female foeticide and what happens in Haryana. But for today I want to keep all of that aside. For today I want to believe that I, like the goddess can slay demons. Atleast my own demons. 


I am a girl today. Not a kanjak. Just a girl who is missing her nani  and loves Asthami. 




  

The events of the past

The other day my mom was talking about this regression specialist, who had come as a speaker at her Rotary meeting. People who can actually take us back into our past lives. When, you were a dog; a cat or a needle. Apparently our problems in this life can be related to our previous lives. So if you are claustrophobic it may have something to do with something that happened when your soul was in some other body.

And all the while I thought only the life we live currently is important. “Hinduism” and grandmothers do talk about past lives and the afterlife. But I never bothered coz I figured it wouldn’t matter since I didn’t remember it. And now I realised that they have ways of making me remember!

Of course there was this show called “Raaz Pichle Janam Ka” and the specialist did take contestants to their past lives, but they made it so dramatic that ultimately it seemed like a soapy drama.

I also recently spent 3 bucks to know who I was in my past life. You know, those SMS‘s network providers send you-“Know your love” ;“Know the secret of your name”; “know your past life”. Well, I tried it. They asked for my birth date which revealed that I was a builder. I had a “dynamic nature with huge energy”. I was also “excellent in planning and supervising”. Now I know so much about my past life.

Yet, I am not too sure if I want to bother with my various past lives. The present itself is so complicated. We have to figure out so much. To connect it to the past is taking it too far. 

Weirdness continued

This one is about questionable existence. Read on:

And then you woke up. And you saw me. I didn’t Know I was here, maybe I wasn’t. But you did see me, very very clearly (at least you seemed to). And yet I was not there ,I was visible, maybe, but I didn’t know of my existence. I wasn’t there yet? I may exist for you, but am not sure of my existence. I feel am not there. A wisp of sand. Out of nowhere. Yet I remind you of something, something long ago. But I was there Ofcourse I was there. You saw me. You couldn’t hold me though, nor touch me. I was sure that I was there. Yet I was not. Not for everyone. No one else was there. Just you (maybe me?)




My existence is questionable No one I know knows of me You know of my existence, I don’t.

And yeah, I don't normally post my poetry on my blog but since the theme is similar, here it is

Existence questionable



Disappear into nothingness,

I do not exist.

My body devoid of soul.

Sucked into a never ending hole,

the world is meaningless to me.



Disappear into the darkness,

the darkness is so thick.

Here I belong.



Disappear into lonelyness,

lonelyness is a friend.

Me not scared of it.

My isolation complete.